Which Way Is Up?
by savinglives44
Summary: Huddy. House falls asleep thinking Cuddy is dead. When reawakened to find her alive, he struggles with his feelings for her and his stubborn nature to keep his distance.
1. Middle Ground

**Disclaimer: I don't own the wonderful characters of House or Cuddy.**

**Which Way is Up?**

Middle Ground

It was 3:30 in the morning and House couldn't sleep. He'd come to PPTH to mull over his latest case, but on the way to his office, he'd noticed that the door to Cuddy's office had been left unlocked, slightly cracked open.

He couldn't deduce why Cuddy would ever leave it unlocked, unless she intended for someone to enter and possibly view her confidential case files. But that wasn't likely.

His natural instinct to snoop overcame him and he wandered in. Using his pointer finger, he sifted through the papers on her desk in search of information about a new case or, as House preferred, clues to her personal life.

He heard the sniffling within seconds of entering the room. He opened his mouth to speak out, tilted his head in confusion, and then decided against it. The nose was obviously coming from the wooden door by her desk.

He opened it, intrigued.

Cuddy faced forward, her knees curled to her chest, her face partially hidden by a hanging coat. When she saw him, she took a strangled breath in and looked away immediately.

He couldn't see very well in the dark and flipped on the nearest switch, which illuminated the closet. The circles under her bloodshot eyes became more apparent as he examined her. She didn't seem physically hurt.

He raised his eyebrows. "Peek-a-boo."

Her slender fingers wrapped more tightly around her knees. "Go away, House." She wiped the mascara-stained tears from under her eyes.

"You're crying in a closet in the middle of the night," he smirked, "You know I can't let this go." He shifted his weight off of his cane and onto her desk. "So," he widened his eyes in mock interest, "what's his name?"

"I mean it." She stretched her long legs out in front of her, and he heard the bones crack softly, making him wonder how long she'd been in there.

"Are you scared of something? 'Cause I got news for you, Cuddy: The monsters are usually on the inside of the closet." He offered her a hand, although his thigh rendered him useless in situations like these.

She took it anyway, and managed to get up without pulling on him. "What time is it?"

"Eleven AM," he joked. "You missed our daily bickering appointment. I was worried."

"It's still dark out," she observed, rubbing her arms. Dazed, she walked over to her desk and stared at her purse. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you. I was concerned about your date." Truthfully, he hadn't realized she was seeing someone, or else he'd been at her house to playfully interrupt. He figured he would make up for it by mocking her right now.

She slammed her hand down on her desk and he almost flinched in surprise. Cuddy wasn't a violent woman, and their clever banter wouldn't flow properly if she was too angry. Especially at something that wasn't his fault for once.

Her stone-cold stare faltered for only a moment. "What gave me away?" she snapped bitterly. "Was it my perfume? Or better yet, the scent of his cologne lingering in my clothes? Maybe I wear only a certain color on dates, which no one else in the entire world would notice except you."

House shrugged. Cuddy did this a lot. She would pretend that he was the absolutely worst person ever and try to make him feel some sort of human emotion- usually guilt. But every time he was apathetic and she'd get just as pissed off the next time she had a bad day. All he had to do was remain careless and wait for her to calm down. "I'm observant. It makes me good at my job."

She looked up to the ceiling. "Why me?" She clasped her hands together and returned her gaze to him. "Please. Go pick on someone else. Ruin their life."

"Well, that's dramatic." He wrapped a hand around the desk for balance and poked her with his cane. "Stop pretending that you're special. I annoy everyone. It's part of my sparkling personality." He batted his eyes.

"Yeah." She pulled the clip out of her hair and it fell flat and frizzed over her shoulders. "I'm sure that you barge in on all of Foreman's dates."

His fingers twitched instinctively to brush through her matted hair and make it smooth again. "Not Foreman as much as Wilson."

"Racist," she accused, her eyes lighting up a bit.

"Foreman keeps a gun by his nightstand and he wouldn't hesitate if he had a good reason to shoot me." He played with the pens on her desk. "So are we still not talking about your date?"

"It's none of your business," Cuddy shot a longing glance at the closet as she shut the door and sat down in her chair. Her back straightened and her eyes focused on him as she returned to her administrative persona.

"Where's Chad? Or Mark? Or Bryan spelled with a 'y'?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Now Andrew- he was clean cut." He continued as she seemed to be feeling better. Her face was a little less pale, but her eyes remained puffy, even in the dim light of the moon.

She shook her head at him, disapprovingly. "Don't you have something to do? Anything?"

"Nope," he lied, sitting down in one of the chairs across from her desk. He lifted his good leg and rested his foot on top of her papers. "What did he do?"

"Nothing! It was me. I was just a little off tonight, all right?" She lifted her head, showing him her shiny eyes.

She really should know better. Whenever the answer is "Nothing", it's always something. And hers was an angry, defensive "nothing" which meant it was a big something. Never before has he ignored something, especially when she specifically asked him to. And he wasn't going to start now. He enjoyed the begging look too much. "I'm not going anywhere. You might as well tell me what happened, so we can analyze where you went wrong."

"No." She blinked furiously, scribbling something on the paper in front of her.

"Don't make me guess." He knew he could push her buttons enough to make her confess. He hoped it wasn't too horrible because then he'd have to comfort her. And House didn't enjoy doing things in which he wasn't perfectly skilled.

She ignored him and continued to flip through the pages.

"Did he pull your hair?" He figured he should start with juvenile, so he could ease into the serious stuff. "Call you names? Oh wait-" he held his finger to his chin, "-that can't be it. I do that every day."

She didn't smile or look up at him. "Shut up House." Her voice remained unwavering, her resolute strong.

But he knew better. He kept pushing. "Did he steal your lollipop? Push you around a little?" He watched carefully for changes in her facial expression.

She broke, more easily than he thought. "Fine." She threw her pen down and it ricocheted off the desk. "It wasn't nothing. It's just that somehow I managed to screw up a date without you being there. All right?"

He stared at her, gritting his teeth. He couldn't act like he cared, but she was being purposely vague, perhaps just to draw him in. "Okay. I'll leave." He supported himself with his cane, leaning off the desk. "You don't mind if I let myself into your house, do you?"

"No!" She jumped up with an urgency he'd never seen before. Sure, she'd been tense out of her mind, but not like this. Not with her eyes bugged out and her arms flailing about.

Wow. He fed off of these kinds of reactions. Nothing excited him more. He gasped, smiling. "Why?" His mouth dropped open. "Did you kill him?"

She relaxed at his joke, straightening her wrinkled blouse.

He hobbled over to her. "It's not a problem. I'll even help you bury the body."

"I didn't kill him," she insisted although they both already knew that.

"The why..." he hooked his cane over her desk and sat on it directly in front of her. "...are you here? You can just as easily obsess over your incompetence at home."

"I'm not tired." She swiveled in her chair, attempting to work beside him.

Although that was the reason that he came to the hospital, he didn't believe her excuse. "Your eyes are practically closed and you've been doodling for the past ten minutes." He kicked her shin to get her attention. "You should go home. And face the empty bed that you're afraid of."

"Only four more hours." Her voice lowered, her breaths coming slowly.

"You get here at eight?" He squeaked. "Way to be an overachiever."

She leaned back in the chair, finally looking at him. "Everyone else is here at eight. Except you. When do you get in? Ten?"

"So..." he tried to switch the topic back to something that was more beneficial for him. "Are you going back to your place?"

"No." She looked away again, trying to busy her hands with something, but she couldn't find anything. They waved around in the air, twitching.

House watched her chest rise and fall rapidly, admiring her chest in the process. He barely noticed her hands. "Well don't freak out." He caught her wrists and bent over to press them to her thighs until she stopped resisting him. "Don't you wanna hear what I have to offer?"

She took a deep breath and met his gaze.

"We go back to your place..." he wiggled his eyebrows and tossed his head arrogantly. "And you get me...for one whole night. Or four hours. But it'll be worth it. I promise."

"Really?" She faked interest and yawned. "As intriguing as that offer is..."

"Don't make me offer you clinic hours."

She groaned, crossing her arms. "Why do you care? You never care."

It shocked House, the degree to which she actually believed this. He could never understand how she could care so much for him without getting anything in return. Of course, he did care about her- to the extent that he wished nothing bad on her. She put up with more crap than anyone else, except maybe Wilson, and everyone knew he wouldn't have a job without her. But the moment he let her know how thankful he was, she would take advantage and mock him for having real feelings.

So he used sarcasm. "I'm hurt!" He placed a hand over his chest. "How can you think that?"

She raised her hand up to graze her hairline. "Just leave."

"I can't." He dug his palms into the desk, hoping she would understand.

She knew, like always. "Because it's officially one of your puzzles. Fantastic. No turning back now, right? Not until you solve it or I die."

He noticed her resolve wearing and let her continue.

"You're not going to give this up," she realized, the pain evident in her winced expression. "So...let's go."

"Good." He used his cane and hoisted himself off the desk.

By the time he'd made his way to the door, she'd put on her coat and gathered her belongings.

She hesitated as he waited for her, a dazed look in her eyes.

"You okay?" He gripped his cane, observing her carefully.

She shook her head. "Yeah."

"Should I be scared?" He smirked.

She exited the room and locked the door when he followed. "I don't know."

A bit of apprehension bubbled in his stomach, but he wasn't afraid, despite her warning. He could be courageous, for Cuddy. It was just natural that he felt stronger in her presence.

Still, he found it hard to keep up as she moved briskly through the dimly lit hallway. She was running away from him.

"Hey!" He yelled. "Wait."

She moaned loudly and stopped as he limped to catch up.

"Geez!" She wouldn't look at him, so he stomped his cane on the tile floor. "What happened?!" It wasn't like her to be inconsiderate enough to pick on him. Something was wrong. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" She sped off again.

He took a deep breath, winced, and tore off after her. "Cuddy! Slow down!"

She complied, waiting for him again. "Sorry." She seemed embarrassed.

"For what?" He asked as he clutched on to her, out of breath.

"It's not your fault." She pressed a hand on his shoulder.

Typical Cuddy. She was feeling guilty again. He could see it in her eyes, the way they casted down more often than they watched him. She shut herself off, when she was usually so open with him.

Usually, he was the one who turned away. Weird. He took a second to think and catch his breath. "Why are you feeling guilty?"

"I-" She stuttered, unsure and exhausted.

House sauntered over to her until he could smell the musty closet in her hair. "Because you only cry when you feel guilty." And that was all the time.

She tensed, pulling away from him and grabbing the ends of her skirt. "You don't know everything, House. Sometimes people are more complex than that."

He doubted it. People were simple- they followed exact patterns. But he wasn't about to argue over habits at four in the morning. "Whatever you say, Cuddy. You're the boss."

She moved towards the elevator, more slowly this time so he could keep up. They took her car and didn't speak for the ride. House turned on the radio and started whistling to a popular rap song, but Cuddy didn't crack a smile.

When she turned the corner to her street, he noticed a car already parked in front of her house. The lights were on. House reached into his pocket and swallowed a couple Vicodin. This could be an ugly confrontation, one that he wouldn't enjoy nearly as much with his leg aching.

"Surprise guest?" He asked as she pulled into the driveway.

"Damn it." Her hands moved across her face, checking for smeared makeup and fluffing her hair a little. She examined himself in the mirror. "His name is Brandon. I was hoping that he wouldn't still be here." Her fingers tapped the steering wheel nervously. "He was a little angry when I left."

"What?!" This was out of character for her. Completely irrational behavior was his thing. "You left your house to an angry stranger?!"

"I didn't know what to do." She watched a nearby window cautiously. "And he's not a stranger." For some reason, she relaxed and got out of the car.

He could only sit there for a minute, analyzing his options. He'd dealt with many angry people before, but no one that scared Cuddy out of her home. But if he didn't go with her, he'd be a coward.

So he followed her to her front door. "Got a plan?"

"Nope. We're winging it."

He braced himself for what was to come.

Cuddy jiggled the doorknob, but it was locked. She bent over to retrieve the spare key under the flowerpot. As she moved it over, the door opened.

House assumed that the tall, strongly built man in front of them was Brandon. He was blonde and beach-y, like some tween-age model. Waaaay too young for Cuddy.

The man's face fell as Cuddy straightened up. "Lisa. I'm so sorry."

So he knew how to apologize. What an accomplishment. The kid appeared to be dumber than rocks.

Cuddy let him bring her into the house. Brandon spent a few seconds whispering to her and then he noticed House. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm her husband."It was the first thing that he thought of that would get Brandon's hands off of her.

"He's kidding." Cuddy reassured softly, moving towards House to help him in. She stopped abruptly and House saw that Brandon had hooked his finger into the elastic at the back of her skirt.

Brandon forced a laugh. "No. Seriously. Who are you?"

Before House could reply, Cuddy interrupted with a half-truth. "He's my colleague."

Actually, they were much more than that, but House didn't think Brandon would be too happy with that information. So, for once, he kept his mouth shut.

"A colleage who's awake at four thirty?" Brandon wrapped his arms around Cuddy's waist.

Cuddy struggled away from him. "I told you. I can't see you anymore."

House took a step forward into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Yeah, and that makes you a big creeper." Seriously? What kind of person stayed in his ex-girlfriend's house when she wasn't there?

Brandon's face flushed. "I was just trying to make sure you were okay."

"You should go," Cuddy removed his hands from her.

Brandon stared at her wistfully. "I want to talk to you in private."

"That's so not going to happen." House drawled, shifting his weight a little. This whole situation was becoming too close and personal for him.

Brandon held back a snarl. "I wasn't asking you." His eyes never left Cuddy.

Cuddy looked down, her eyelashes casting shadows over her cheeks. "Maybe later. But's it's really late and I need-"

"I love you." Brandon scooped her gently into his arms.

House's view of Cuddy was temporarily obstructed by Brandon's shoulder, but then she shifted onto her tippy-toes and he could see her teary eyes. She mouthed, "I'm sorry."

He couldn't figure out what she meant. Sorry because she loved Brandon? Not possible. Or sorry for Brandon's behavior? Which wasn't her fault. But it was like Cuddy to apologize for something she didn't do.

He tapped his cane on the wooden floor, reminding them of his presence.

Cuddy broke away from Brandon. "You have to leave."

House watched Brandon straighten up and squeeze Cuddy's shoulder. He didn't like the way Brandon's knuckles curved tightly around her bone. "Are you deaf?" he asked.

Brandon swung his palm around, nearly missing House's nose.

"Whoa!" House backed away. "Didn't your mommy teach you not to pick on the disabled?"

Cuddy wrapped her long fingers around Brandon's bicep. "Brandon?" The pitch of her voice turned shrill and House frowned as she cowered under Brandon's height. "Let's talk now. In the kitchen."

Brandon glared at House before following her.

House stood by the doorway, hidden behind the wall. All he could hear was hushed whispering.

"Speak louder!" he demanded.

Brandon stormed out of the kitchen, more flustered then before. He pointed at House. "You touch her and I'll kill you."

House didn't want to deal with this annoying jackass anymore, so he bit his tongue on another sarcastic remark.

Brandon left and House sat on the couch, placing his cane on the end table. He waited for Cuddy to come to him as he listened to the labored breathing coming from her kitchen.

It was a few minutes before she appeared, leaning against the doorway. She bit her lip and swiped tears from her eyes as she attempted to explain, "I told him that I couldn't see him anymore, because he was too young and I didn't need that kind of relationship. He freaked out...and he had a knife."

House's head snapped up.

"I thought he was going to hurt himself," she told him, painfully.

"What about you?" This guy was crazier than he'd originally thought. House came to the conclusion that Cuddy shouldn't date at all. It was in her best interest.

"He wouldn't hurt me."

Trusting, naive Cuddy. It was no wonder that this psycho picked her up. House groaned as he stood up.

She crossed the room so he could lean up against her without using his cane. It wasn't particularly comfortable for either of them, his leg aching as his bony hip dug into her side. But it was better than being apart.

He could only take a few seconds of it. She was too close and he didn't do hugs. "You should go to bed." He separated from her.

She folded her arms over her stomach. "You should stay here."

He snorted, "Yeah, that would be a good idea." He didn't move again though, hoping she'd give him a logical reason to spend the night.

Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "I just thought- we've slept in the same bed before. And we have to go to work in a few hours anyway."

In the same bed? He'd assumed he'd be resting on a narrow, scratchy couch getting a crick in his neck. But being inches away from Cuddy's nearly naked body? That was worth a little intimacy. He supposed he couldn't touch her or anything, but it would be easier to fantasize with her right there- soft and scented.

Just the way she looked then. "Sounds good. You sleep naked, right?" It was a long shot, but the thought of possibly rubbing against her skin sent shivers through his spine. He nearly hummed in delight. Smooth curves. It reminded him of when he'd being giving her the fertility injections and her skirt hitched up over her thigh.

He must have been giving her one hell of a steamy look because she stepped back, startled. "Are you serious?"

He knew when to shut up; he really did. But usually he just ignored the social signals to stop joking until it was awkward. Which had happened about five minutes ago. "I didn't think you would let me sleep in your bed because that other guy was such an asshole-"

He stopped when he saw her lips approach his. She didn't hesitate. She just kissed him thoroughly, her hands gripping his stubble. He groaned, sucking her lip and thinking about other parts of her body that he wanted to suck too. For some reason, it wasn't quite as surprising as it should have been. It felt right, like they'd been kissing for years. Their tongues pressed forcefully against each other twice, just the way he liked it, before she pulled away. Another bad idea, he thought. This couldn't end well. Nevertheless, after taking a breath in unison they slammed back together, her arms twisted around his neck tightly, holding his head to her face. He clung to her as much as he could, his hands resting lightly on her back.

"Hmmm. Cuddy." He liked to say her name, and did so as frequently as possible. Short and sweet with lots of explosive syllables: it was perfect.

His lips pressed against hers one more time and he decided he was officially addicted.

"What?" She moved her lips over his chin and jaw.

"You should go to bed." He kissed her again. Delicious pink lips. He bit down on them lightly and she leaned into him, hungry for more pain. Maybe she was as screwed up as he was.

"Not tired," she lied.

He knew she was. "Okay. Let's have mind-blowing, life-altering sex for the rest of the night and take a sick day tomorrow."

"Fine." She pulled away, but not too far so he could lean against her as they trudged to her bedroom.

"Seriously?" That was a little too easy.

"I meant I'll go to sleep for the last two hours we have left."

Tease, he wanted to call her. But she wasn't. He'd just gotten excited because of his overactive imagination.

"I'll let you spoon me," She offered, grinning.

"Yes!" He pumped his free fist in the air.

In the bedroom, she let go of him temporarily to pull the sheet away from the bed.

He watched her bend over to push the pillow off, and almost reached out to cup her ass. Was it still sexual harassment if they'd just made out?

He heard a creak behind him and moved to turn around.

He was too slow.

A loud crack sounded as something thin and smooth smashed into the back of his neck. He fell over, dizzy from the pain.

"No!" He heard Cuddy shriek immediately. "Don't hurt him!"

Between all the black spots, House watched Cuddy fight him. Brandon, the big burly guy. He pushed her down with ease and House wished with everything he had that he could protect her. But he couldn't feel anything.

At least not until the hook of his own cane buried into his stomach. "Ugghhh." He coughed and sputtered and clutched the side where he'd been hit.

All of a sudden he was covered by something soft and warm. And familiar.

Cuddy. "Stop!" She yelled. "You're angry at me! Don't hurt him!"

He needed her off of him. It was too much weight and she needn't be sacrificing herself like a self-righteous saint. Every part of him burned, but at least his vision was coming back.

And then it went black. Cuddy had heaved her whole body onto his head.

It wasn't enough. The force of the cane broke through her arms and came down on the top of his head. The pain shook through his body as Cuddy screamed. House faintly heard the cane clutter beside him.

Brandon had dropped it. "Oh, shit."

"House!" Cuddy fumbled for his pulse.

He couldn't see anything. Were his eyes shut?

"Oh fuck," Brandon's surprisingly deep voice swore. "Is he dead? Fuck- I didn't mean to...."

House felt Cuddy's hands move off of his neck and she jumped off of him. "Don't you dare come near me!" She paused, "But stay away from him too. Stay where I can see you." Her voice traveled around the room, disappearing. "I have to call an ambulance."

House heard her leave the room and cracked his eyes open one last time to catch a glimpse of Brandon's back, following her. He almost thought he saw a glint of steel peeking out of Brandon's back pocket when he fell unconscious.

* * *

A/N: So there you have it. I know there's A LOT of storylines similar to this in the Huddy fandom, but I love them all. And mine will be just a bit different, I think.

The layout is inspired by a short story I read in English. I can't remember exactly what it's called, but it was some sort of a play on reality vs. illusion. It should be fun. You'll figure it out by the next chapter.

Also, I might be increasing the rating to M sometime. Because I'm just descriptive like that.

It would be really helpful if you reviewed. So I could see if people are interested or not. If not, I might actually update my Grey's Anatomy stories. :-)

Thanks for reading!


	2. Upside Down

**A/N: Thanks for all the amazing reviews! House fandom kicks GA fandom's ass, officially. Oh, by the way, this takes place before Amber dies and Cuddy gets a baby and everything.**

**Warning: If you don't like blood and stuff like that, skip this first section.**

**Which Way Is Up?**

Upside Down

House woke up to a great deal of shouting and movement that he did not appreciate.

A hand settled gently over his legs, tapping him. "House!" The tapping grew more insistent. "Oh God. Not you too," the voice sobbed.

House groaned in annoyance. Why was he so stiff? He pried his eyelids open.

Wilson hunched over him, supported by one hand flat on the ground. The other held a cell phone tightly to his ear. "Yes. There's two of them," Wilson was saying, "Doctor Cuddy and Doctor House." He wrinkled his forehead into a frown. "House? Can you move?"

House groaned again and pressed a palm into his eyes. For the first time, he realized how much his head hurt. It almost made him forget about his leg. "Geez, Wilson. What are you doing?" Then he felt the wooden floor beneath his legs and remembered. "Cuddy." He tried to sit up.

"No, House." Wilson said firmly as he forced him to lay back down. He spoke into the phone again. "He doesn't seem to be hurt as badly. No visible lacerations." Wilson's hands shook as he checked House over. "He can move all appendages freely." He paused and added, "Except for his leg...but that's unrelated"

"What? Where's Cuddy?" Everything ached, but his need to assess the situation overcame his pain.

Wilson climbed off of him and shut the phone. He ran out of the room, shouting, "I'll be back. Stay in there."

Wilson was trying to protect him and failing miserably at it. Something was obviously wrong and House refused to lie there useless. Slowly, he inched his legs up, but it didn't matter. His thigh still burned in pain.

He yelled in frustration.

Wilson hurried back. "What? Is something broken?"

No, House didn't think so. But he hurt everywhere nevertheless. He looked up to snap at Wilson, but was distracted by Wilson's crimson-stained hands. All of his pain was pushed to the back of his mind and adrenaline shot through him, causing him to jolt forward to a half-sitting position. "Whose blood is that?"

Wilson looked down at his hands and sanguine-spotted jacket. He gestured towards House. "Don't move. The ambulance will be here in a few minutes." He hesistated and waved House off, "Trust me."

Wilson's words only made House more curious. He rolled and scrambled to his feet, the pain in his leg knocking him back down. He crawled, dragging his leg to rather than attempting to use it. He made it to the doorway before collapsing.

Wilson crouched on the floor, hovering above Cuddy. House saw her long legs curled around awkwardly towards him, and began to crawl again to get a better look.

Her eyes were shut, her skin stark white.

He smelt the blood a moment before his hand splashed into a warm liquid. He looked down. Blood pooled over his fingers.

He couldn't move, couldn't do anything except stare. He didn't want to look at her and see how bad it was. She had to be alive. She had to. He only allowed himself a few seconds of denial before deciding that he was going to fix her.

He started by kneeling by her face.

Her hair, her clothes, they were all soaked.

"Cuddy?" He brushed her face.

"Do you know who did this?"

Wilson's voice forced him to shift his gaze to her midsection. Her shirt was opened to reveal three cuts, all of which House knew were pretty deep. It was just a lot of blood, he told himself. "We need to stop the bleeding."

"What bleeding? She doesn't have any blood left." Wilson stood and paced the room. "I can't believe this is happening. It feels like a nightmare." House noticed that Wilson was breaking down now that House had taken charge.

"That's a new color on you." House wasn't used to a pessimistic Wilson. Wilson without hope, without faith- he was a stranger. "Does she have a pulse?" He touched her wrist, one of the only parts of her not covered in blood. He saw her chest rise and fall almost imperceptibly. "She's breathing. I can't get a pulse, though."

Wilson placed his fingers on her neck. "I got one. It's faint...." He sniffled, and growled at no one in particular. "How did this happen?"

"Her boyfriend- ex. He was crazy. Literally insane, as you can tell." House nudged her face again.

"Why are you here?"

"Doesn't matter." He urged her to wake up.

"House! What's that?" Wilson pointed to the back of his neck.

House ignored him and thought he heard sirens in the distance.

"You've got a big knot on your neck. Did you get hit?" Wilson looked more closely.

"Yeah, so? Cuddy is bleeding out-"

She gasped, causing them both to jump. Her eyes widened and she locked her jaw open.

"Cuddy!" House kneeled over her, not caring about the blood anymore. "Can you feel anything? Can you talk?"

She gasped again and coughed. She tried to lick her lips, but her pale, dry tongue offered no moisture.

"Guess not." A pang of sadness hit House's stomach as he realized he'd been kissing those lips just a few hours ago. They were certainly wet enough then. He looked back to her abdomen. Every time she breathed, blood rose in her cuts, but none spilled out. "In case you don't remember, psycho Brandon put three holes in your stomach." Actually, only one was probably hitting her stomach. The others appeared close to her liver and intestines. "The ambulance is coming soon. So it would be great if you could hold off on dying for a few minutes."

He smiled at her and she closed her mouth. She moved stiffly, her hand unable to stay still. She picked it up, saw the blood, and let it hover over her abdomen. Her face remained frozen in shock and terror as she felt the cuts. She shivered and closed her eyes.

"Cuddy!" House looked at Wilson, who had tears welling in his eyes. "Hold her hand!" he shouted.

Wilson complied, unable to stop sobbing.

The ambulances pulled up and House asked her to wake up again. "Damn it. Stay awake." He touched her face one more and pressed his lips against her top, cracked lip. Still beautiful, he thought.

Her eyes snapped open and the paramedics raced in. "Please, step away gently," one said.

It took all of House's strength to let go of her. He fell on his back when he realized how tired and sore he was.

"Three stab wounds to the left hypochondriac, epigastric, and hypogastric sections of the abdomen." They hoisted her onto the stretcher.

"Cuddy," House said again, this time to the ceiling.

Another paramedic hovered over him. "Can you tell us what's wrong, sir?"

"My boss- my friend-" His fuck-buddy, the love of his life- "she's dying. That's wrong."

"Yes. We're going to help her. What's wrong with you?" The paramedic was patient with him. He was probably new.

"Well," He blinked and sat up. "If I remember correctly, I was hit- with my own cane- in the neck and the head." He felt the bump on his head. "Then, I was pummeled in the stomach." Which, as he just thought about now, also hurt very badly. It had seemed minor compared to the other pains in his head and leg, but if he thought about it, he could definitely feel a dull ache.

The paramedic ripped his shirt open.

There was no time for a sexual comment. The bruise was long and spread across his left ribcage. "That can't be good."

"We need to take you to the hospital and check for internal injuries."

"I know," House grumbled. "Wilson- ride with Lisa." He thought she should have someone comforting beside her as she fought for her life. She was strong enough, he knew she was.

Wilson nodded, and hurried off to catch her ambulance.

House closed his eyes as they lifted him into the stretcher. Normally, he would protest the help, but today he knew his legs physically wouldn't be able to carry him anywhere.

* * *

At the hospital, Cameron tearfully examined House's injuries, trying not to say anything. Kutner and Taub interrogated him, despite Thirteen's hushings.

He refused to participate in any verbal description of his night until he heard news of Cuddy.

While they waited for his blood tests to come back, House analyzed his condition. It had been an hour, and Wilson hadn't even stopped by, not very promising. If anything was fine whatsoever, Wilson would be here, sharing it with him.

He guessed that she was in the OR, with about 90% confidence. The other 10% went to the morgue, which he wasn't thinking about. He knew Cuddy would be okay. She was the dean of medicine. If the surgeons couldn't save her, who could they save?

It would be a bit ironic, dying in her own hospital. Then again, deans of medicine die all the time. Just not his dean.

As soon as Cameron proclaimed him well enough to go home (like he knew already), he demanded a wheelchair. He'd left his cane at Cuddy's house. Actually, there was no way he was going to use that ever again. He'd have to get a new one.

Until then, it was wheelie's and extra-close parking spaces for him. Cuddy would have to approve.

They all told him that he should rest. They'd give him his own room and extra nurses to annoy. He said he wanted to be in Cuddy's room, and Cameron and Thirteen shared a look.

Taub told him that there wasn't anything he could do.

House wouldn't listen, like always. He still had a mind of his own. Swallowing the rest of his Vicodin, he asked if Cameron would refill the bottle.

She couldn't deny him anything.

He wheeled around in the hallway close to the OR until he got a confirmation of her whereabouts from Foreman. Then he rolled off, not entirely sure of how he'd get in.

House made it to the scrub room OR3 without damaging himself. (He couldn't say that much for the other doctors who were in his way.) Wilson sat on the floor, his eyes red, and arms tense across his chest.

House stopped just short of his feet. "Where?"

Wilson pointed to the scrub room, "They won't let you-"

House rushed to the doorway and Wilson jumped up to stop him.

It was easy to get in to the scrub room, but reaching the sink was another story. House pulled on the cool metal sink and forced his legs to keep him upright. He bit his lip to counteract the pain in his stomach.

He couldn't see her. There were too many hands, too many bodies moving over her. He supposed that was a good thing. But not good enough if she was still in there.

Chase's eyes darted back and forth, noticing House after a few minutes. He simply returned his intense stare back to Cuddy's body, focused on the work at hand.

House felt Wilson grab his upper arm. "You can't go in," he said, "All we can do is stand here. I'm going to pray."

"So, basically, do nothing." That wasn't going to help Cuddy. House couldn't let himself watch Cuddy die while he didn't do anything. He scrubbed his hands.

"No." Wilson weakly tried to hold him back, but House broke through, moving into the OR.

"Get out of here." Chase's rough accent failed to stop him.

House stood near her head and played with her hair as he observed their progress. They'd managed to repair her stomach, but her liver was severely pierced and her small intestine was all cut up, as if the knife had been twisted and dragged through.

Definitely not an accident.

"House, get out of the way." Chase's strong voice rang clear over the clanging instruments and the gush of internal organs.

"She's losing too much blood," One of the nurses said what no one wanted to here.

"Get more!" Chase yelled.

House would be proud, but he was too concerned with Cuddy's failing stats. He checked behind him. Wilson was watching from the scrub room, his hand running through his hair. Another tear slipped out of his eyes.

House would not cry. "She isn't dying!"

Cuddy's flat-line begged to differ.

"What?" House's hands clutched her hair tightly. "Charge her!"

Chase sighed, his face screwing up into a frown. He, too, seemed to be choking on tears.

They shocked her three times before Chase gave up and House took over. It was painful and cliche, but he couldn't stop himself. He'd have to admit failure and face life without Cuddy, which seemed like an impossible task.

After the fifteenth _zap!_, he stopped, not needing to be told when it was too much.

Chase called time of death.

All of the nurses remained still, not willing to move until House spoke.

He put down the paddles. "Close her up." A lump rose in his throat, which he immediately tried to swallow and forget about.

He returned to his spot by her head.

Chase pulled off his scrub cap and faced the back wall. Wilson joined him a few minutes later.

House couldn't think of any words at all. Images of Cuddy kept flashing through his head. Cuddy smiling, talking about babies, laughing at his jokes. Cuddy crying. Cuddy yelling. Cuddy's lips. Her eyes. Her breasts.

Gone. Never to be seen again.

He forced every memory to run through his head. Holidays, conferences, classes. It seemed like she could still be alive if he could just keep thinking about her.

But she wasn't, he had to remember.

It was probably his fault. His useless leg that couldn't protect her. It stung as he thought about it and his fingers instinctively reached down to massage it.

He rubbed his muscle for only a second, because he realized that he'd rather be in pain and touching her than not being able to feel her at all.

If he'd just asked her out. He was such a coward, he knew. That really was his fault. They might have been happy, and she never would have met Brandon or felt desperate enough to go out with him.

It was idiotic of him to be blaming himself, so he started plotting revenge. He wouldn't be able to take Brandon merely by physical strength, but intellect was on his side. He was thinking poison.

Crazy killer wouldn't live, he though as his thumbs moved over Cuddy's temple.

Wilson came over and rested a hand on House's shoulder. He leaned against him temporarily and House felt tears wet his shirt.

He wanted to shrug him off, but figured it wasn't the best time. So he ignored Wilson, keeping his eyes locked on Cuddy. She'd never bicker with him again, much less scream out her sexual frustration. What was he going to do? He couldn't kiss her anymore. He wished it was the day before so he could kiss her without hesitation and she'd kiss him back. And it would be perfect because it would never end.

Wilson lifted his head. "I don't believe this. How could something this horrible happen?"

"Horrible things happen all the time," House stated. It was mundane, really, he told himself. "I don't have a job," he realized out loud.

"It's Cuddy!" Wilson's face turned red, tears still streaming down his face. "She's dead and all you can think about is your job?! Maybe she was right. After everything, you don't care. It's inhuman- what you'll go through to prove your indifference."

Wilson was just upset, but it was very hard not to scream at him, tell him that maybe, people didn't always say everything they thought. "She knows how I felt." He attempted to keep his voice level. Wilson was the only one he had left.

"She knows you didn't respect her opinion as a doctor. She thinks-" he winced at the change in tense, "-thought she'd be a bad mother because you told her so."

Wilson had it wrong. Cuddy knew she'd make a great mother, despite his wishy-washy opinion on the matter. "We kissed last night. She wanted me to stay. And then I got knocked unconscious with a wooden cane."

Wilson thought for a minute. "That's kind of like God slapping you in face. Did you not hear the big, booming voice from above telling you not to take what you have for granted?"

"It's not," House life without Cuddy was really twisted. Wilson was sarcastic...about religion...in a crisis. Maybe it was a coping mechanism.

"You don't think she's in a better place right now, looking down and saying, 'See, House? I told you so."

"First of all, you can't go to heaven if you're the devil incarnate." Sure, it was a cheap shot, but Wilson was annoying him and too many emotional moments had passed without a rude remark. "Secondly, you can't go to a place that doesn't exist."

"You seriously think she's just done?" Wilson wiped his eyes. "I'm holding on to the fact that she's not."

House nodded. "She doesn't deserve it, more than anyone." He slid his fingers around a curl. The blood had dried and hardened the strands.

Chase came up behind them. "I'm sorry, guys." He rubbed his lip and looked at her. "It was too much."

"Yeah." House looked at Wilson. "Will you call her parents?"

"You don't want to?" Wilson seemed surprised.

House couldn't. Wilson was much better at breaking the news of death anyway. Wilson was kind; House would probably just say something inappropriate. Cuddy wouldn't want him to make it any harder on them. "No. You're the angel of death."

Wilson rolled his eyes. At least he hadn't lost all sense of humor.

"I'm going to my office." There was nothing he could do. He was wasting time, just standing there, wishing the life back in her.

"That's it? You're ready to go back to work?" Wilson crossed his arms.

"Yeah," Chase chimed in. "At least wait until they finish." He nodded towards the nurses, still working to close the long incision on her abdomen.

"I can't bring her back," House shrugged. "What's the point?"

Wilson shook his head in disbelief. "You've skipped the entire grief process." He raised his eyebrows. "Unless you're in an accepting form of denial. Which sounds like something you would do."

"I'm not in denial." House challenged himself to take in her pale skin and lifeless body. It seemed like all she needed was a pinch of color and she would wake up. "Cuddy is dead. Gone. I'm going to go be sad in my office." He brushed Cuddy's face one last time and left. He felt a little guilty abandoning Wilson, but he would have Chase, and soon Cameron and Foreman.

House limped back to his wheelchair and pushed himself slowly out of the scrub room. Foreman, Thirteen, Taub, and Kutner were waiting outside. They all looked at him anxiously. "So...how'd it go?" Thirteen asked earnestly.

"Not well." He gritted his teeth for the reaction that was to come. "She didn't make it."

He sped away before they all started crying over him. Foreman caught up. "Are you okay? I know you two were close..."

House stopped abruptly and opened his mouth to protest.

Foreman interrupted, "And don't say you weren't."

House kept moving, but much slower this time. "Don't expect a profound change out of me. My world's a little more gloomy right now, but in ten years, it's not going to matter."

"How profound-"

House didn't catch the last part of his sentence. He was pushing the wheels as hard and fast as he could. He passed Cuddy's office on the way to his and only faltered for a second as a rush of deja vu hit him. He peered passed the wooden doors. She should be in there, flashing her clevage to a donor or bickering with him over a radical yet necessary test. He could almost see her, and then he was past it.

The wheelchair pulled up to his own office. His body felt heavy as he fell into his chair. He closed his eyes, desperately wanting to escape this life.

* * *

A/N: For all of you who want to kill me, I seriously hope you read this author's note before reviewing.

I know, I killed Cuddy. That DOESN'T happen.

But I promise: Next chapter-- lots of Huddy. Some kissing, some angsty, always hot. And it's not a flashback, and House is not a necrophiliac. So, don't worry.

Have I mentioned how awesome you guys are yet? Well, you are. I actually felt like someone was reading my story for once, which is why I updated this quickly.

I already have some of the next chapter written, but it's a looong one and I need some motivation.


	3. Inside Out

**Thanks for all the amazing reviews!!! You guys rock!**

**Which Way Is Up?**

Inside Out

House woke up, lying down in a comfortable position. He knew something was wrong when he actually felt well-rested. His fingers curled around scratchy, sterile sheets, and he cracked an eye open.

He was in a hospital bed. Crap, he thought. He'd probably OD'd on Vicodin and now everyone wouldn't let him out of their sight. Wilson would be sure it had something to do with Cuddy (or the lack thereof) and he'd be in the psych ward for weeks.

He groaned at the thought.

Something touched his leg. "House?"

It was her.

He closed his eyes again. Stupid drug-induced hallucinations. His mind was tricking him, teasing him.

He felt the bed dip slightly at the addition of weight, and soft fingers rubbed his wrist.

"Are you awake?"

No. He was dreaming. An all-too-real conjuration of someone he dearly missed. He peeked another eye open.

Kutner, Thirteen, and Taub were all sitting on the bed opposite him. How cute. Cuddy appeared to be sitting on his bed. Wilson and Foreman were there too, leaning against the wall.

"Foreman!" He barked, figuring he was the most trustworthy.

"Yes?" Foreman stepped forward, his expression relaxed in relief. House didn't know why he would be relieved, with Cuddy dead and all.

Unless she wasn't. "How many people are in this room?" He used his forearms to push himself into a sitting position, staring at Cuddy.

"What kind of game…" Wilson stepped forward, mirroring Foreman. He placed a hand against House's bed. "Wait." He narrowed his eyes at House. "How many people do _you_ see?"

House didn't answer. He was too busy peering at Cuddy. Usually hallucinations had some sort of a tell, but he couldn't find anything wrong with this one.

"What do you see?" Cuddy's fingers stopped moving against his skin and she frowned in worry.

He lifted his wrist and examined it. "I see dead people." And apparently, he felt them too. Maybe the traumatic experience had left him temporarily schizo.

"Are they talking to you?" Kutner asked.

"Yes. _She's _talking to me." He looked back to Cuddy. "It's incredibly life-like," he gasped in mock amazement and reached out to touch Cuddy's cheek.

"Cuddy?" Wilson stepped to the side of House's bed.

"House." Cuddy scooted uncomfortably. "I'm not dead."

"Can you guys see her too?" House poked her.

She stood up. "Are you kidding?"

"Why would you think that Cuddy's dead?" Wilson asked.

That was interesting. At least House wasn't totally crazy. Sure, he thought he saw Cuddy die, but at least he wasn't seeing dead people. Still, he wasn't convinced. "I saw you die." He watched her carefully.

"You've been unconscious since Brandon hit you!" She looked up to the ceiling and pursed her lips. She was remembering it, every painful detail. He could see the worry in her wrinkled face. Some days, he noticed that she looked more tired and older than the days before, and knew he was the cause of it.

"It was a dream," Thirteen piped up. "Or something like it."

"Yeah," Taub agreed. "The damage to your parietal lobe could have caused a distorted sense of reality."

"I felt it," House knew. He looked down at his hands, remembering the blood flowing freely between them.

The thought was lost as Cuddy's fingers weaved through his. "Do you feel this?"

"Yes." He did. And he would much rather believe in this reality than the other. He tugged on her until she sat back down. She looked real, but his inner pessimism made him doubt the physical evidence. He felt like as soon as he was thankful and relieved, she would be gone from him again. He needed to keep his distance, just until he was sure.

Foreman pushed Wilson out of the way to shine his bright flashlight into House's eyes. "You should be fine, but this dreaming of death stuff is out of the ordinary. I'm scheduling an MRI, just in case."

"I don't need an MRI." He tried to sit up all the way, but being upright made his head throb and he had to lie back down.

"Take it easy," Cuddy scolded. She slid one of her hands to the back of his head, the other still intertwined with his. She gently brought his head back down. "Rest, please." When she leaned forward, he caught an eyeful of cleavage.

Now that he could believe.

Her skin was a much better color now than it had been…when she was dying. He supposed that was a good sign. He could feel the pulse in her hand and it warmed him, almost to smiling. "The world was a gloomy place without you, Cuddy. I really missed your boobs."

She shot him an annoyed look.

"I guess I'm here for the day," he resigned, patting on the bed. He nodded towards the fellows. "You kids can go home. Free day!"

"Clinic," Cuddy ordered.

Trotting off, they all sincerely wished him better health, which scared him. He didn't need another team that actually cared about him. They'd all get fired or quit and then the hiring process would repeat all over again.

Foreman rested his hand on House's headboard. "The bruising on your abdomen worried us, but there seems to be no internal bleeding."

Cuddy squeezed his hand and he realized that their fingers were still twisted together. Awkwardly, he pulled them apart. "Did he hurt you?"

"No." She hung her head and looked down. "He...um...sliced through his own wrists though."

"He's dead?" At least House wouldn't have to kill him.

"He's upstairs." Wilson told them. "Psych is evaluating him. He'll be arrested soon, though."

Cuddy picked at a hangnail and sighed softly.

"Are you sad?!"

She didn't answer.

Unbelievable. The guy beats him up and kills her (well, kind of), and she forgives him. House didn't want to know how it felt to be sympathetic like that. There was a line that most people drew when they stopped feeling sorry for others. Most people drew the line at murderers. "This is ridiculous, Cuddy!"

"You don't know..." she began, "He wanted to die because of me."

She looked up and her eyes met his judgemental stare. He tried to soften his expression, but failed at making her feel less guilty. He changed the subject. "So did you talk to the police?" He'd love if he didn't have to talk to them himself. Ever since the Tritter incident, police tended not to like him.

"Not yet." Cuddy gazed somewhere behind him.

"She hasn't left the room." Wilson said, the inflection in his voice indicating suspicion. He shifted to face Cuddy, also noticing her blank stare. "Lisa. You in there?"

She nodded numbly and blinked.

"Cuddy!" House clapped his hands loudly in front of her face. She barely even flinched. He knew it would be a long time before she was completely okay again. Maybe she'd never get over it. He certainly couldn't get over her death.

Damn it. He kept having to remind himself that she didn't _actually _die. Although she seemed kind of dead, at least her heart was beating and her lungs were pumping air in and out of her body. But she was lost somewhere, in a memory. He wanted her to be found, so she could smile again. He wanted to release her from the horrifying trap of guilt that her mind created in situations like these. As much as it scared him to be close to her, it was better than being without her. He tried to bring her back to the real world, "Don't you have administrative stuff to do?" Maybe she could bring it back to his room, and sit next to him and file paperwork. He would show her how unnecessary it was.

"No." She looked up. "You're the only administrating stuff that I have to do." She blushed at the implication. "I mean, you're the only problem that I ever have to deal with."

"Freudian slip?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You know I'm always open to you doing me. Administratively, of course. Can I be the dominatrix boss next time though?"

"Wow." Wilson crossed his arms. "That's a bit excessive, even for you."

Foreman shrugged and whispered, "To be fair, Cuddy asked for it."

Cuddy heard him, of course. "Hey!" She smiled to show him that she wasn't actually offended. It wasn't big, but it was enough that House knew he wanted to get her alone. He needed her to be happy for the conversation he had planned.

He'd actually thought about it in his dream, what he'd say to her if she was alive. Now, he figured was that perfect opportunity. He wasn't going to proclaim his love or anything.

But she might. He knew she was scared too, of losing him. With just a little nudge, they could have some sort of relationship.

Oh, and he wanted to kiss her too. "So, Wilson? This is your cue to pretend that you have some labs to run. Take Foreman with you."

Foreman hesitated. "I don't really feel comfortable leaving you alone..."

"Cuddy'll be here," He replied quickly. "She's already demonstrated her ability to not leave my bedside. Although she's not as medically-qualified as one of those nurses, she gives one hell of a blow-job." He smirked at Cuddy, who was holding her hand up to her mouth in horror.

Wilson and Foreman already knew that House was kidding, but Cuddy followed them out the door with a "You know I don't actually..."

They reassured her, and Wilson wished her a "Happy Private Time", much to Foreman's disapproval. She shut the door behind her, and he heard the click of a lock, which made him suspicious.

She surprised him by crawling on to the bed and straddling him, somehow not putting any pressure on his thigh or his stomach. The way her skirt stretched against her skin was so visually appealing that he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He touched her just underneath her skirt. "I'm not entirely sure that you exist." He wanted it to be real, perhaps so badly that he dreamed up a fantasy world in which he screwed Cuddy in a hospital bed.

She kissed him, her tongue roughly stroking into his mouth. He pressed forward, knowing that she liked his stubble scratching against her cheek. She slung her arms loosely around his neck, careful of the sore spot. His fingers traveled farther up her thigh.

"What-" She breathed against his lips. "Whatever you want."

"Okay." He pushed back on her shoulders. "This is a dream."

"I mean it." She pressed her breasts against him.

He looked at her, trying to figure out what was going on. He distracted her with another kiss while his fingers unbuttoned her blouse, making sure to fumble against her skin. A flush of pink across her chest, up her neck, and on her cheeeks. He smiled, "Hot for me?" He had yet to touch her panties, see how wet she was. If he knew for sure that she was aroused, there would be no turning back, and he still needed to figure out exactly why she was doing this.

She stood up, without commenting either way, and unbuttoned the rest of her shirt.

As soon as he caught sight of the lacy blue bra, he had to remind himself that she had a face. His eyes refused to leave her cleavage as he could only think about sucking and licking and touching.

He ignored her proud expression as she adjusted his pillow and straighted the twisted sheets.

"Leave them off," he commanded. Although the hospital gown wasn't flattering at all, at least it hid his scar. He could feel her better this way, more skin-on-skin contact.

She ran her hand up his calf and under his knee. He made room for her to kneel between his legs.

"What hurts?" She asked.

"My leg." As always.

She rubbed him through the thin fabric and rested her head against his shoulder, knowing he felt self-conscious. His hand rose up and cupped her through the bra, stroking against the lace. Warm and heavy and everything he wanted.

He yanked her skirt up and pulled her leg to slide between his. She took her hand off his thigh, unable to rub him in the new position.

He needed to test her, almost confident she was bluffing. Cuddy would never have sex in her own hospital. "I want a blow job," he told her, his voice unwavering.

She paused and kissed him. He knew she could feel the stirrings of his erection on her thigh. "You don't want...me?"

He could understand why she thought he was only kidding about this. (He partially was.) She wanted pleasure and closeness too. But sex after a traumatic experience could never lead to good things. She would get attached, and he'd hurt her. "I want your lips and hands and breasts. And I can't have those things without having you."

"Oh." She sat up and stared at his chest, tapping at it softly.

He held her at the hips, enjoying their fullness. "Door's locked," he reminded her. There was no plausible reason that she would say no. She couldn't go back on her word either.

"Will it make you feel better?"

Why did she ask questions that she already knew the answer to? She was just looking for a reason not to feel disgusted with herself. If she really felt that repulsed by him, then she shouldn't have made that promise. He responded by asking her, "Would it make you feel better if I did more clinic hours?"

"Not really," She ignored the semi-surprised expression on his face and continued, "It would make me feel better if you stopping taking so much Vicodin."

Fantastic. Now he felt bad for misreading her. She really cared about him, as a person, not just as a doctor. "See? It's practically the same thing!" He mocked her; it was the only way he could deflect the emotions that he was feeling. "Except blow jobs actually make me feel physically better, and me not taking Vicodin would only make you feel less worse." It was an awful argument, and started the vicious cycle of him feeling guilty all over again.

She bit her lip and he thought he could almost see tears shining in her eyes. "I'll do it."

He didn't believe her until she lifted his hospital gown. He grabbed it, holding it to his scar. "What's wrong?"

She sat back on his knees and stared between his thighs. "I thought you didn't care."

"I don't." Why did he always say that? She probably thought he hated her, which was the exact opposite of what he was trying to say. He flexed his calf muscles, and she bounced a little. Her shirt hung open, her hands clutching the top of his legs. He attempted to justify his harsh words, "Since when do you do what I ask you to? Obviously, something's different." He paused and shrugged. "I just thought it might be the victim thing. Maybe I should hit my head more often." He slid his hands over her ass.

She tugged on his gown again. "I said I'd do it."

"You want to?" He didn't know what answer he was looking for.

"Yes." She said firmly, pushing his gown over his hips.

He felt a slightly cool rush of air hit his legs and then her warm hands as she grabbed him. He closed his eyes. Her mouth slipped over him and her lips tightened momentarily.

And then she was gone. Well, her lips were gone. He opened his eyes. She was kneeling again between his legs, her face covered with her hands.

"Was it good for you?" He cracked a smile, thinking it was no big deal.

Her hands slid down and he could see her red face and watery eyes. "Sorry. I'm just going to try again." She leaned back over him.

"What are you doing?" He didn't expect her to do it again. He was partially flaccid anyway. "It's okay."

She gripped him more tightly with her hand, concentrating. She closed her eyes. "It's just been a...hmm...while." She lowered her lips just a little bit, never touching him.

"Cuddy, just stop it." It wasn't that complicated and Cuddy _knew _how to give a blow job. She was stalling because she didn't want to be touching him. He just didn't know why.

"Damn it, House." She climbed off the bed and started buttoning her shirt.

"What?!" He had no idea what was wrong. "It's not my fault!" He threw the sheets back over his lower body.

"I know." She spat at him. "That's because it's my fault."

He pointed at her. "I knew you felt guilty about that stupid idiot. He was crazy before you met him! How could you possibly blame yourself?"

"It's not that." She realized that she misbuttoned and had to start all over again. When she finished, she moved beside him, without sitting back down on the bed. "You could have died. And I should have done more to stop him." She brushed through her hair and adjusted her skirt. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't take care of you."

"If you'd done anymore, you'd be dead." He rubbed his eyes. "And that is the most horrible, awful..." he paused. "You can't imagine what it was like."

"Yeah, I'm sure it was really bad..." She laughed, despite the moment, and touched his cheek. "I'll be back soon. I'm going to send Wilson in."

"No." He grabbed her arm. "You're much better company. And you're warmer and you have bigger boobs." He wanted her back in his bed. "Stay," he pleaded with his eyes.

She kissed him, sighed, and pulled away. "I have to go think."

"Think here," he implored. "Think with me."

"This isn't a very good environment for thinking," she knew. "I'll be back. I promise. I-" She stopped herself. "Never mind."

She left, and he heard the door shut, and then a loud clutter in the hall.

"Cuddy!" He yelled. She didn't come back.

Oh, he'd really fucked it up this time.

Wilson would know what to do.

* * *

A/N: There is sooo much more to this chapter and I just wanted to get it up because I haven't posted for a while.

It's okay, though. Unfortunately, my layout is not going to be OCD anymore.

Umm. I had some diffculties with this chapter. That's why it took so long.

If you are interested, the conversation inside my head was: "Cuddy and House should have sex. No, it's too soon. But they have to. No, they shouldn't, it doesn't fit. But it's Huddy and it actually does fit. No, it does not. It's OOC." And so this chapter came from that conversation.

I think the angst worked out pretty well. It took forever to get what I semi-wanted. Ummm yeah. I really don't want House or Cuddy to be OOC. I'm struggling with that. In effort not to bore you, I'm not going to go into detail. But any advice with that would be appreciated.


	4. Bent

**Thanks for all the great reviews!!!**

**Which Way Is Up?**

Bent

Cuddy left House's room, guilt-ridden and ashamed. She closed the door behind her and allowed her head to rest against the wood for a moment.

She needed to get to her office.

Her chest tightened in agony of suppressing emotion, and the build-up of tears in her eyes begged her to blink. But she wouldn't give in until she found the privacy of her own space.

She swallowed, and her dry tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her eyes darted around the hallway. It was busy, but no one was really paying attention to her. She took a step forward and somebody slammed into her.

The impact shook the tears from her eyes. "Sorry."

"Oh. Cuddy." Wilson's large hands helped to steady her.

She was glad that it was him. Anyone else and she might have broken down from the stress.

He scratched his head. "I was just..."

"Eavesdropping?" She guessed, hoping he hadn't heard too much.

"Yes." He noticed the wetness on her face and tilted his head in concern. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to run into you. Are you hurt?"

She swiped the tears away. "No," she smiled. Wilson was always so considerate. "I'm fine." She gave a fleeting glance to the door of House's room.

"He's going to be okay." He patted her shoulder reassuringly.

No, he wasn't. House would never be okay. He would never stop hurting. She just wished that she could take some of the pain away, just to see what he would be like in complete, utter bliss. Without narcotics. "I know," she told Wilson anyway. "I'm going back to my office."

"Did he say something?" Wilson stepped back, placing a hand on his hip. "He's just stressed and confused," he reminded her.

Yeah, but he was always stressed and confused. And he'd never made her feel like a whore before. "I know," she repeated. "He need you." She gestured towards the door.

"Nooo," Wilson blocked her path as she tried to leave again. "He asked for you. He wants you beside him, holding his hand. He can't make lewd comments about sponge baths to me."

She felt her face getting hot and her throat closing. "I can't." She couldn't pretend to be one of his hookers and secretly love him at the same time. She waited by his bedside for three hours! That at least warranted more than a quick make-out session and one eighth of a blow-job.

"He needs you too," Wilson insisted. "He just says it differently because you're a woman and he actually cares..." He waved his hands around as if he had no real idea what was going on in House's head.

She knew what House was like. She wanted him to put a little effort into being different, for her. "He treats me exactly the same as he treats every other woman." Her hand rose up to shield her eyes.

Wilson enveloped her in a hug. "He loves you. We both do."

"Thanks." She still didn't believe him. It would be understandable if he had trouble saying it, but shy was one thing that House was not. He genuinely did not care for her. And she kissed him. She groaned inwardly in embarrassment.

Wilson pulled away and held her at a arm's length distance away. "You should just go back in. He's probably getting impatient. Unless you want to talk about something," he hinted.

She'd already told him about their kiss from the previous night, but this new development was a little too much information. As much as she trusted Wilson, he wouldn't find the image of House's naked body cute or romantic. "I'm sure House will tell you all about it." Every crude detail.

Wilson opened the door, holding a hand to her so she didn't move. "House!" He yelled. "Are you all right?"

"Cuddddddddy!" It was the most obnoxious screech she'd ever heard. "Cuddyy!" House wailed from inside where she couldn't see him.

Wilson gave her a knowing look.

She waved him off. "Oh, shut that thing before he strains a lung."

Wilson shook his head and laughed. "Yeah, he doesn't want you," he said sarcastically.

Cuddy leaned against the door frame. "He doesn't want _me_. He wants-" she mocked him, "-my lips, my ass, my hands." She rolled her eyes. "He just wanted me to pleasure him." She checked Wilson's face for a reaction.

He wasn't surprised, "It's House! If he didn't make a comment about your ass, then I'd be worried."

She supposed Wilson was right. But it felt different than when he'd joked with her before. "I-" she hesitated, "I tried to distract him, make his pain go away for a few minutes. But I couldn't do it," she shrugged, unhappy with herself, but feeling that she'd be unhappy either way.

"Wait- so you guys finally..." His eyes widened in shock.

"Not exactly-" She had to choose her words carefully. Although Wilson didn't get offended easily, a trait developed from years of contact with House, Cuddy didn't want him to think any less of her. "He can't really move or anything so I..." She gestured forward, looking away.

"Oh." Wilson crossed his arms and shifted his weight. "Forgive me for the implication, but that doesn't sound like you."

That's because it _wasn't _like her to do what House asked, much less if the request was to go down on him in her hospital. She reached up and let her fingers dig into her scalp, "I know." Her hands dropped. "I felt disgusting." It wasn't supposed to be like that. She was supposed to feel wonderful and sexy, because she was doing something that made him feel good. But, ugh, he hadn't seemed excited. Even from the beginning when she'd straddled him and kissed him.

He'd told her to stop. So maybe it was her. Maybe he'd realized that the real thing wasn't as good as his fantasies.

Wilson interrupted her thoughts. "I'm sure he didn't mean it that way."

She looked up. "What?"

Wilson tried his best to side-step the awkwardness and give her some real advice. "He likes you."

"Yeah, just how he likes all of his other hookers. Why doesn't he just ask them to suck him off?" The words flew out of her mouth before she'd even knew she was saying them. She quickly placed a hand over her mouth, as if that would stop her from saying anything else. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it that way. That was unprofessional."

He smiled, laughing a little. "This isn't a very professional subject anyway."

"You're right," she sighed and pushed off the wall.

Wilson stopped her. "We're friends. We're allowed to be nonprofessional."

But Cuddy only knew how to be professional. Except, apparently, in House's case.

"Why don't you just go back in there and talk to him?" He suggested.

She shook her head. "He'll just laugh at me." Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "You know him. There'll be a moment for him to say absolutely perfect and he'll blow right by it." She was so tired of it all, expecting the best of him and getting nothing every time. She was holding on to a little thread of hope that he might like her. But there was no real evidence for that. Every nice thing he did was tied to a selfish ulterior motive.

And for some reason, she enjoyed him. All the flirtation and banter stirred something up in her that she couldn't get anywhere else. The corners of her mouth turned upward as she remembered him throwing papers and pens on the floor just to get her to bend over.

Wilson saw the tiny smile. "See?! He makes you happy, despite all of the horrible things he's done!" He grinned, raising his eyebrows, "You know, some people call that love."

She laughed. It was another one of those moments where she wondered exactly how Wilson and House ever came to be friends. Wilson was so optimistic. He still believed in true love after three failed marriages.

And he was right. She felt something for House, but he was incapable of reciprocating. It was hopeless trying to persuade him otherwise. "Just go in and help him, please? I'm going to my office." She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at the knots.

"Wait." Wilson placed a hand on her arm. "I'll talk to him. You listen from the doorway. He can't see you from his bed."

Her first instinct was to say no. She didn't really want to know what Wilson and House talked about behind closed doors. Anyways, House would know the minute she stepped into the room. "That's okay. I'll just wait and talk to him later."

"Don't worry about him noticing. He's drugged out on pain meds right now, and I guarantee he's more upset than you are. His focus isn't on the details right now." He pulled on her arm gently, "Just- listen." He opened the door, and she came with him, only resisting a little. "He's asleep."

She nodded, and stood in the doorway, her back flat against the wall, ensuring that he couldn't see her.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded again, feeling a little guilty about tricking House. But she needed this. She needed a little something from him, regardless of how she got it.

Wilson whispered to her, "You have to be absolutely silent. He'll notice if you move."

She held back her sniffles, restricting her breathing.

"Better," Wilson told her, smiling. He disappeared around the corner and into House's room.

* * *

Wilson quietly stepped towards the bed. He knew he probably shouldn't wake House up when he needed to rest, but Cuddy was about to bolt any minute. He pinched House's big toe. "Hey."

House's eyes snapped open. "You're not Cuddy." He laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Sorry to disappoint," Wilson said curtly. "What are you doing, demanding for her when you know she's hurt?"

"She's Cuddy. She's always hurt." House didn't move, and Wilson noticed that he appeared sicker than before. Red circles outlined his eyes and the tone of his voice was dead, flat.

Wilson couldn't pity him. He'd had enough of that. "Stop enabling yourself to be an ass." Cuddy didn't deserve the indifferent facade that House was putting up. Wilson dealt with it all the time, because he knew House meant well. But Cuddy couldn't see through it.

House tried to sit up, but the pain in his stomach held him back. He lifted his hand.

Wilson sighed and helped him up, stacking the pillows behind his back. "What are you trying to do?" He honestly wasn't sure of House's motivation for all of this. It wasn't just about sex, and their vulnerable situation certainly wasn't helping. But it wasn't like House to deliberately try and hurt Cuddy.

House's fingers tapped against the sheet. "I'm assuming she told you of our less-than-satisfying attempt at intercourse?"

"Yes. But she didn't exactly use the word 'intercourse'." Wilson knew Cuddy was cringing at this a few feet away. "This could just be my irrational, crazy thought-process, but she might have been more forgiving if you leaned towards 'intercourse' and actually included her in the festivities, rather than pretend that she wasn't fulfilling your wildest fantasy."

House gasped and dropped his jaw. "She told you the naughty details?! That takes all the fun out of it. Now we have nothing to talk about."

Wilson poked House in the shoulder, one of the places that he knew wasn't bruised. "We still have to discuss the grand apologetic gesture for this screw-up." Whenever House messed with Cuddy too much, he always came up with some sort of gesture or slightly meaningful thing to say. Cuddy usually forgave him instantly.

House knew exactly what he was talking about. "Sorry to rain on your parade, Stupid-Cupid, but it's not going to happen this time."

"Why not?" Wilson inquired, glad that House seemed troubled with something other than physical pain. If he actually cared about Cuddy (and admitted it), they could move past this and forward into some sort of relationship that allowed Wilson to have a life outside of trying to get House and Cuddy together. He was tired of playing telephone for them.

"In case you haven't noticed, she kind of hates me," House snapped, brooding in his own thoughts.

"She doesn't hate you," Wilson insisted, "She's just stressed and worried about YOU."

House's eyes darted back and forth as if he was trying to make a decision. "She-" He looked down. "Damn. The one person I thought I'd never be able to repel." He laughed bitterly.

Besides Wilson, of course, but they both knew that. "You two!" Wilson clenched his fists, frustrated. "You have the most messed-up ideas about each other." They wanted to be together, but they had more trouble putting _that_into words than anyone else Wilson knew. "You want Cuddy. Stop playing around. It's childish, really."

"Oh, come on," House argued. "It would never work. She feels guilty _all _the time. Can you imagine us being together? It would torture her."

He had a valid point, but Wilson was determined to refute it. "You're being selfless!" He pointed out. She brought out the best in him, and he'd allow her to relax a little. It was a perfect match.

"She should be with someone who makes her happy." House refused to make eye-contact Wilson.

Wilson didn't mind. That was what Cuddy needed to hear. "Oh. Wait." He tried to keep a straight face. "Did I not tell you?"

"What?" House was serious.

"Um. Well, this is going to be hard for you to hear..." He placed a hand on House's shoulder. "She's in love with you."

A thump came from the wall where Cuddy was hiding.

House was still contemplating what Wilson had said. "Will you see who's at the door?" He asked, scratching his chin. "If it's Cuddy, tell her...I don't know. Tell her to come in."

"Sure." He went to the door, where Cuddy was wildly gesturing. He pushed her out into the hallway. "Cuddy!" He said, loud enough for House to hear.

"Why did you tell him that?!" She whispered, fiercely, and punched him in the arm. "Now he thinks I'm in love with him!"

"You are!" He instinctively rubbed his arm. She was so stubborn.

"I didn't want him to know!" She pressed a hand to her head. "Just give me a few minutes. And then I suppose I'll have to talk to him. Maybe he won't say anything."

Wilson hoped to God that wouldn't happen. "Okay. Stay out here this time. Don't move!" He touched her to emphasize this point before heading back in.

House was nervously twisting his hands into the sheets. "Where is she?"

"I told her you needed a few more minutes."

"To do what? Jack off?" Housed sighed, thought a moment, and then gasped. "She thinks you're helping me!"

"She does not. Calm down!" Wilson waved his hand in a downward motion. "You need to think. What are you going to say?"

"I don't know." At least he appeared to be thinking.

Wilson paced the room. "Tell her you love her."

"No."

"Tell her you want to be with her. Ask her out on a date," Wilson offered.

House shrugged, tilting his head back and forth. "That doesn't really sound like me."

It was hopeless. Wilson was starting to believe they actually couldn't be together. "This is it, House. You need to do something _now_."

House pinched his lip, and then dropped his hand. "Go get her."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've got it." He put his hands on his cheeks and rubbed his jaw. Then, he shook his head. "I'm ready. Don't worry, Wilson. I'll pull through." He shot Wilson a sarcastic, confident smile.

Wilson hesitated, slightly worried that House was going to screw up again. He left, without another word, believing that Cuddy loved House for who he was, screw-up's and all.

* * *

Cuddy stood nervously outside of House's room. She didn't think she could make it between her anxiety for House's health and humility that he actually might know how she felt. She kept telling herself that he only wanted her for sex, that she should be realistic when it came to their relationship. But a small part of her hoped otherwise.

Wilson opened the door. He didn't appear overly confident. "He says he's ready." He let out a deep breath. "You should just go in. I have a strong suspicion that he's winging this."

She wasn't exactly going off of a prompter either. Something inside her told her that this conversation didn't really need to be planned. "I'm just going to go in."

"Hold on." Wilson gazed at her, taking her in. He then moved to take off her white lab coat, which she'd put on earlier to make herself feel better, regain some control. He buttoned her white blouse a few more buttons, without letting his fingers linger on her breasts, amazingly enough. (Maybe she really was getting too used to House.) He fixed the part in her hair, smoothing the curls around her face, and then leaned into kiss her cheek.

She felt the glow of comfort rise in her cheeks.

"Much better," he said, allowing her to enter the room.

She shut the door behind her, ensuring that Wilson could not eavesdrop. She folded her hands over her skirt and moved so he could see her.

He didn't say anything.

She took another step forward. "Wilson said that I should come back in here. He said I should tell you...things." She moved to his bedside.

He stared at her.

"I guess it's kind of stupid that we rely on him to talk for us. I know it annoys him," She glanced at the door. "And I'm sick and tired of it too." She realized that he hadn't said anything. Was Wilson mistaken? Had House given up? She looked up to the ceiling. "And I can't say anything. Because I'm so afraid of getting hurt." She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry again.

She heard him move, and saw that he made a place for her on the bed. "Thanks." She kicked off her shoes and joined him, for the second time that day.

The narrow bed forced him to hold her. She didn't mind. "So, you want to say anything?"

"Don't die." Two short words. He nuzzled her neck.

It was touching, for him. She chuckled. "I'll do my best." She ran her fingers through his hair, letting them massage the top of his head gently. "Lay down." They both scooted down until he was lying down again, eye-level with her breasts. She could tell he was enjoying the view. "I'm not sorry about before," she told him. "It was too soon for us, and I'm glad I stopped." She said it out loud, partly to convince herself. "I think I deserve better than that."

He smiled slightly, still watching her chest move in time with her breathing.

"What?" She smiled too.

He pursed his lips together and made a sound. "Mmm." He stopped.

"Yeah, I was an idiot before," she though out loud. "So were you, though."

He blinked in agreement.

"Okay." She pulled back. "Why aren't you talking?"

He tightened his arms, tugging her back to him. He grinned into her cleavage, his lips slightly open in a kiss.

She bent her neck, rather uncomfortably, down to meet his lips. It stretched her muscles, but the kiss was worth it. Soft and sweet. She didn't even think he could kiss like that. "Talk to me," she said, moving down to his level and to the edge of the bed, where they could feel close enough without being squashed together.

"Anything I could say would only disappoint you. So, I shut up and everything is perfect." He closed in on her again, indeed believing that everything was perfect.

She felt claustrophobic and had to stand up. "You think I want to be the one to talk? I wasn't lying when I said I was scared out of my mind!" She fell out of the bed, and clumsily made her way back onto her feet. Unfortunately, she stubbed her toe in the process. "Damn it! Holy mother of f-" She bit her tongue at swearing.

A loud rap came at the door. "Everything okay?" Wilson's voice asked, concerned.

"Everything's fucking fine, Wilson!" She shouted. Damn, her toe hurt. She dropped to the ground and held her toe, making sure it wasn't broken.

House watched her in silence.

So he was still going to play that game? "Fuck you!" She yelled at him. "I hate you." He made her feel like she meant the world to him, and then the next second, she was worthless. "I hate that I have to work in this fucking hospital with you every day and it's never enough!"

"Cuddy." His eyes changed, suddenly filled with life.

She stood up.

"You are always enough." He moved his hand to the edge of the bed. That was the best he could do.

She moved closer to him.

"I'm not scared," he said, stretching one of his fingers out to touch her. "Of all the things in my life, you're constant. And then I thought you were dead, and then you weren't."

He was thrown off. Kind of like she was everyday, when she knew he might OD on Vicodin and she might never see him again.

"I suppose I could try to be more constant for you." He paused, "In exchange, it would be nice to have sex. With each other. The real kind, that involved both a penis and a vagina," He stopped, thought about what he said, and continued, "And that's why I didn't want to talk. I was doing so well, too." He shook his head.

She couldn't tell if he was kidding or not. "What do you mean?"

"You don't want to feel like a hooker. I got it. Won't happen again." Obviously, he was really straining to keep his eyes trained to her face.

"I still want you to tell me when I turn you on. It's fun and it's a part of you. And I love...you." She looked away. "You already know. There's no point in me keeping it a secret."

"So just no blow-jobs then?" He grimaced. "I guess..."

She ruffled his hair and grinned. "You are so spoiled." Her fingers brushed his forehead. "I didn't say 'no blow-jobs'. I want it to mean something though. We're not just screwing around. Can you at least pretend?"

"It won't be pretend and you know it." He took advantage and pulled her back in bed with him.

She felt light-weight, his hands on her hips. "I love you," she said. "Don't say it back. That would be weird." She kissed him and let her lips linger on his, feeling his breath.

"I kinda, sorta like having you around," he said. "That means I love you, 'kay?" He whispered into her ear and she nodded. "Because I'm only going to say it once."

She laughed, bouncing up and down on him. She stroked his cheek and rested her head on his chest. "I'm going to take very good care of you."

He fell asleep, holding her wrist so he could feel her pulse beat in his palm.

* * *

A/N: Oh, that was so much fluff that I could barely stand to read it. House is so OOC, but there's really no other way to (satisfyingly) end a House fic.

This isn't really the end, but people would not be happy if I continued. (Because Cuddy is dead again in the next hypothetical chapter.) So, we're going to call this "complete" right now, but if I feel like being depressed again, I'll continue.

Oh, thanks for reading it. It was a wonderful experience for my first House fic.

A/N for this fic ends here. This is sort of a weird question, but have you ever watched House and thought, "Ohh, that's such a perfect moment for some Huddy." And then nothing happens. I guess that is sort of the basis for all fanfiction, but I was thinking of doing another House story along those lines. It may be titled, "Lost Huddy Moments" or something equally cliche. It's probably already been done, though. So, yeah, input on that would be lovely.


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